This place was a wreck: dirty and dingy, musty-smelling, in need of fresh paint and a serious airing out. He frowned. It was his own fault for not making the time to get down to Stoney Ridge to see this property before he agreed to the lease. To a year’s lease, paid in advance, wiping out his savings.He flicked on the light switch and, of course, the lights didn’t go on. He walked through the empty rooms—the front of the store, the two back rooms. No, not “store.” Center. It was the new site of the Stoney Ridge Wild Bird Rescue Center and he was the director. And the veterinarian. And the fundraiser. And the janitor. Basically, he was it.Naturally, his father thought he was a fool to turn down lucrative offers in established practices to start his own nonprofit center. Why Stoney Ridge, of all places? his father had bellowed. His mother only smiled, in that old soul way she had.If Will wanted to make a go of a wild bird rescue center in the state of Pennsylvania, he explained to his father, this rural village was the place to be.
